thought. Anton wondered if Joon knew that the crew saw this world exactly in those terms.
“Your family is one of beautiful women,” Anton said.
Joon responded, “Oh yes. And powerful. We are of the king's line.” She regarded him with an unnerving glance. ‘Anton,” she began carefully, “I will not compliment you on how well you speak our language, since I have been rebuked by my father for doing so.”
After a pause to digest whether she had complimented him just now or not, Anton replied, “There was no offense taken, Lady. Not by me.”
“Thankfully.” Joon sat without any mannerisms or idle movements, a stillness that would have appeared stiff in someone less graceful. She might have been a predator ready to spring—or prey frozen in indecision.
Under the floor, pipes rattled with a pulse of water. Joon gazed at him, allowing the silence to lengthen.
“My people have returned from the—air craft, Lady” he said finally. There was no word for
shuttle
, or
space ship
, or even
humans.
“I have brought you a small token.” Fishing in his pocket, Anton produced the thing he and Shim had agreed upon. Colored pencils. Suitably
useful
, Shim had pronounced, since nothing Anton had could be
caWedfine.
He crossed over to her and handed her the gift, wrapped in a swath of Dassa cloth, taking care not to touch her.
Joon took out the pencils, examining them closely.
He sat again. “For drawing, Lady. You will need to cut them a little to keep them sharp.”
“To make them bleed?”
“No …” He struggled to make sense of it, then had it: “No, they aren't paints. Not bright colors, but soft ones.”
“Like ink pens.” The Dassa had elaborate writing sets, with tubes supplying continuous ink. And every Dassa was literate, even the hoda, since they were schooled until adolescence. “I am thankful that you thought of drawing pens for me, amid all your troubles.”
“Which troubles, rahi?” He certainly had his share, but she might know if he faced others he knew nothing of.
“Oh yes, the trouble with your great ship, where you do not thrive, and in your blue lands across the sky where you do not thrive, and then coming among us, so similar yet different.” She paused, and he struggled not to show his surprise over her concise summary.
She went on. “The trouble with Sen, and with Bailey, and the small ship on the Sodesh which is resting on the lands of Huvai the reed merchant.”
Sen—that would be Zhen—whose
trouble
was that she was female. And Bailey … but what could Joon know of his issues with Bailey Shaw?
“Rahi, you have a longer list than I do.”
“It is a difficult list,” she agreed.
“Is the shuttle on lands it should not be?”
Joon fingered the painted brooch, hesitating. Then she said, “Some do not approve of hoda with such privileges.” She added, ‘Although hoda cannot be male, thankfully.”
Anton said, “If humans are powerful, it implies the hoda are not well used. Is that right?” The rains faded into a light patter, and the room grew warmer.
“I do not say what is right, Anton. Only what is so.” And he thought her eyes took on a more sorrowful cast.
“When we came here,” he said, “we hoped to be free to come and go. To explore. But the king is cautious for our sakes.”
“Hmm.
Cautious.
That is an interesting criticism.”
“I mean no disrespect.”
“But you wish to come and go.”
“Yes. Since we are searching for something.” He hesitated, but she rescued him.
“To thrive.”
He nodded. To thrive, indeed. But the Olagong hid its secrets, and he thought the Dassa hid the Olagong. The
Restoration
was surveying the region from high altitudes, using a drone. It sent back real-time images of the delta lands.
They'd seen no archeological sites or evidence of buildings. The drone had lingered over the holdings of the Voi in the west, relaying views of a people even more primitive than the Dassa, living in tents and squalor. They
“Your family is one of beautiful women,” Anton said.
Joon responded, “Oh yes. And powerful. We are of the king's line.” She regarded him with an unnerving glance. ‘Anton,” she began carefully, “I will not compliment you on how well you speak our language, since I have been rebuked by my father for doing so.”
After a pause to digest whether she had complimented him just now or not, Anton replied, “There was no offense taken, Lady. Not by me.”
“Thankfully.” Joon sat without any mannerisms or idle movements, a stillness that would have appeared stiff in someone less graceful. She might have been a predator ready to spring—or prey frozen in indecision.
Under the floor, pipes rattled with a pulse of water. Joon gazed at him, allowing the silence to lengthen.
“My people have returned from the—air craft, Lady” he said finally. There was no word for
shuttle
, or
space ship
, or even
humans.
“I have brought you a small token.” Fishing in his pocket, Anton produced the thing he and Shim had agreed upon. Colored pencils. Suitably
useful
, Shim had pronounced, since nothing Anton had could be
caWedfine.
He crossed over to her and handed her the gift, wrapped in a swath of Dassa cloth, taking care not to touch her.
Joon took out the pencils, examining them closely.
He sat again. “For drawing, Lady. You will need to cut them a little to keep them sharp.”
“To make them bleed?”
“No …” He struggled to make sense of it, then had it: “No, they aren't paints. Not bright colors, but soft ones.”
“Like ink pens.” The Dassa had elaborate writing sets, with tubes supplying continuous ink. And every Dassa was literate, even the hoda, since they were schooled until adolescence. “I am thankful that you thought of drawing pens for me, amid all your troubles.”
“Which troubles, rahi?” He certainly had his share, but she might know if he faced others he knew nothing of.
“Oh yes, the trouble with your great ship, where you do not thrive, and in your blue lands across the sky where you do not thrive, and then coming among us, so similar yet different.” She paused, and he struggled not to show his surprise over her concise summary.
She went on. “The trouble with Sen, and with Bailey, and the small ship on the Sodesh which is resting on the lands of Huvai the reed merchant.”
Sen—that would be Zhen—whose
trouble
was that she was female. And Bailey … but what could Joon know of his issues with Bailey Shaw?
“Rahi, you have a longer list than I do.”
“It is a difficult list,” she agreed.
“Is the shuttle on lands it should not be?”
Joon fingered the painted brooch, hesitating. Then she said, “Some do not approve of hoda with such privileges.” She added, ‘Although hoda cannot be male, thankfully.”
Anton said, “If humans are powerful, it implies the hoda are not well used. Is that right?” The rains faded into a light patter, and the room grew warmer.
“I do not say what is right, Anton. Only what is so.” And he thought her eyes took on a more sorrowful cast.
“When we came here,” he said, “we hoped to be free to come and go. To explore. But the king is cautious for our sakes.”
“Hmm.
Cautious.
That is an interesting criticism.”
“I mean no disrespect.”
“But you wish to come and go.”
“Yes. Since we are searching for something.” He hesitated, but she rescued him.
“To thrive.”
He nodded. To thrive, indeed. But the Olagong hid its secrets, and he thought the Dassa hid the Olagong. The
Restoration
was surveying the region from high altitudes, using a drone. It sent back real-time images of the delta lands.
They'd seen no archeological sites or evidence of buildings. The drone had lingered over the holdings of the Voi in the west, relaying views of a people even more primitive than the Dassa, living in tents and squalor. They
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